waiting to be found
by kathleenfergie
Summary: Every time he spoke the snake-man's name, he earned a scared squeak from Ron. Harry didn't care, though. He never understood the use of pseudonyms for his enemy. So many frightened people because of that one man. Though what Voldemort made Harry feel was beyond fright. There was no emotion when it came to him, Harry was blank. And that's what scared him. DH. Oneshot.


Alright, so this was originally written to be part of a series between my friend and I, but life happened and we couldn't continue it. But, I wrote this maybe two years ago and I never posted it. But I like it, so I might as well let you read. It's set in DH. Enjoy some angst Harry.

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It was dark as Harry sat on the cold forest ground. He was on watch, Ron had just gone to bed, and Hermione was sleeping, waiting for her shift. She'd wake up early though and bring him something to eat. She always did. As Harry exhaled, icy mist replaced his hot breath. Winter had come to the Scottish wilderness, and as each night grew colder; Harry had already decided that he needed to transfigure his other clothes into warmer ones. He laughed aloud. Lately it dawned on him just how long the three of them might have to live in forests, sleeping in the magical tent.

He knew eventually if they failed they'd have to go back home. Ron and 'Mione would have lots of ginger babies and they'd all live in their own version of the Weasley's Burrow. Thinking of that made Harry miss Ginny. He would never admit his infatuation for the female Weasley, but it was there. He'd been told many a time that when she was in first year, she'd had a crush on him, but since then she had been involved with a handful of blokes, so he buried the feelings. It would do him no good to love someone who was not with him at the moment; Voldemort would probably kill them before they even got the chance to admit anything.

_Oh, I'm sorry, You-Know-Who. _He thought bitterly. Every time he spoke the snake-man's name, he earned a scared squeak from Ron. Harry didn't care, though. He never understood the use of pseudonyms for his enemy. So many frightened people because of that one man. Though what Voldemort made Harry feel was beyond fright. There was no emotion when it came to him, Harry was blank. And that's what scared him, that he didn't feel anything when he thought of the man who had killed his parents, and had almost killed Harry. Harry simply didn't know what to feel when it came towards the Dark Lord.

You-Know-Who. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Lord Voldemort. Tom Riddle. Meaningless titles.

Just like Golden Boy. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. So many titles, and they meant _nothing _to him. Like he told Hagrid that first night, he was '_just Harry_.' Just Harry. He thought of how so many people had whispered behind his back, pointing as walked by during sixth year, the year after he had fought at the Ministry. He hadn't even done most of the work, his friends had helped him, and they were forgotten as Harry's face was plastered onto the front page of the _Prophet_.

_Neither can live while the other survives. _The prophecy floated through his mind. Harry was going to die, one way or the other. He had accepted it. There was no stopping that. Voldemort may even kill him, or Harry would die trying to defeat him.

It should have been Harry in the Chamber, almost dead. It should have been him, not Cedric. In the very beginning, that night in Godric's Hollow, he should have died. Lily and James Potter should have lived a long life. They should be famous, not little Harry Potter. And he couldn't even mourn them.

Sure, he loved them, he did. Harry loved the woman that had thrown herself in front of Voldemort. He had loved the man who had tried to protect them both. Harry loved them, he knew he did. But the love only amounted for what he felt toward Ron and Hermione. Brother and sister, best friends. It was because he didn't know them. He knew their names, how they lived their lives, what they looked like, but Harry didn't know anything about them personally. That's why he saw them that night in the mirror of Erised. Not fame or glory, not like what he had now. Loving parents, that's what he wanted. Needed.

Harry wished the stupid horcruxes never existed, along with Voldemort.

Harry reached his hand down the front of his shirt and retrieved the locket horcrux. Bringing it over his head, he gazed at the serpent encased in the class covering. It slithered every so often; acting as thought it was alive. Every time he took it off, he could feel the heaviness that wrapped round his mind lift. It would still linger, attaching onto his mind, like the scar had over the years. His one disadvantage. And to think that Dumbledore thought they could use it to gather information from Voldemort. What did it matter if Harry was in pain? It was for the greater good.

That was all he heard. That he being connected to the most dangerous wizard in the whole world was going to help them. It hadn't. So many things were supposed to help him, the people, the world, and they never helped, not one thing. Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed to be the only ones making progress. Dumbledore was dead, Snape had taken over Hogwarts. He heard on Ron's muggle radio about the Muggle studies teacher. Nowhere was safe. Not even the safest of them all, good old Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.

Icy wind ran across Harry's face as he sat, looking around where they had pitched the tent. He could see the faint blue glow of Hermione's wards. From the outside they were unnoticeable, but he could see them now. It seemed that any kind of spell she did, no matter the context, turned out to be beautiful somehow. He half smiled as he remembered her patronus, an otter; and Ron's, the jack-russell terrier. And last, his stag. He didn't know whether or not he'd be able to cast one in the near future, he didn't have anything to be happy about.

'_Tempus._' Harry whispered, flicking his wand, and the time flashed before his eyes. _2:48 am. _Hermione would be getting up soon for her 3:30 shift. He usually never slept when she was outside, didn't feel like she was safe enough. Harry knew his best-friend could go up against a Deatheater whenever she felt like it, and most likely win, but he still worried about Hermione. Ron somehow seemed to sleep through everything, especially after having his turn at wearing the locket. He simply didn't worry like the other two did. Hermione was starting to sound like Mrs. Weasley with all the nagging and mothering she did.

Harry let the moments pass, the wind becoming wilder with each breath he took. The forest was slightly illuminated from the moonlight, and Harry could see small animals hop about. He was so still that he did not disturb them. They suddenly jumped out of sight at the sound of the tent flap opening. Hermione came out, holding a bowl of broth out to Harry. She also had a blanket tucked under her arm.

Harry lifted his numb hands and took the broth, smiling at her. He drank it slowly, until it was gone. She sat down next to him and wrapped the blanket round their shoulders. 'You looked cold the last time I checked on you, so I brought this out.' She said. He must have been really deep in thought not to notice her. _Probably should pay more attention to my surroundings_. Harry thought. 'You can stay with me a little while longer, and then go to bed. I don't think I'm awake just yet.' She said, and a yawn emitted from her mouth. Harry nodded. 'And actually sleep, Harry. Don't think I don't hear you rustling about in there.'

He smiled at that. _Yup, definitely Mrs. Weasley. _

The locket was still clutched in his hand, and Hermione took it from him, sliding it around her neck. Harry didn't fuss; he knew she would end up taking it anyway. That was what he hated about them traveling with him, they tried to help weigh out the suffering that came from the locket, when Harry thought they deserved to be at home, maybe even obliviated like Hermione had done to her mum and dad.

'You should stop letting Ron wear the locket. He gets very angry, and I don't think he wants to be.' She said, her face contorting into a look of sympathy. 'You get very quiet, Harry. I think it just makes me sad. Makes me miss my parents more.' She sighed. 'But they're safe, that's all that matters.' She said it in a whisper, which led Harry to believe it was more meant for herself.

'I know.' Harry said. 'I miss a lot of people at the moment, but it's all for the good of the cause. They're safe at home, and we're out here doing Dumbledore's dirty work.' He bit out the last few words, his anger rising.

'Harry…' Hermione sighed.

'No, Hermione, we may as well admit it, this is his fault. He could have protected us, protected me, but he decided to thrust us in front of Voldemort, have him kill us himself. We wouldn't be in this stupid, cold forest searching hopelessly for the last horcruxes, which we still have no clue to what they are! How did he think we were going to do it? He gave Ron a stupid flashy light trinket, you a little book of meaningless child's tales, and me a sword that doesn't even belong to me. If it did, it would have presented itself. I'm not worthy, Hermione! I'm not worthy.' Standing up, he knocked the bowl off his lap. '_Accio_!' He spit out at the locket around her neck. It didn't budge. 'Give it to me, Hermione.' She just sat there, staring at him. 'NOW!' Slowly, she nodded, taking off, and handing it back to her angry best friend. Harry threw it to the ground and started shouting curses at the horcux. He didn't care that they were unprotected in the middle of the forest. '_Incendio_!' Flames burst around the locket, melting the snow underneath it.

A hissing noise could be heard as the locket repaired itself, the glass covering cracking back into place. Harry stood there for a good fifteen minutes, panting out curses, flashes of light flying. Hermione watched him from her spot on the ground. It saddened her to see Harry like this, it saddened her to be in this situation, but it was something they could not change. 'Harry, stop, people might hear you.' She whispered. Harry's temper flared and he picked up the locket, throwing it in the opposite direction. Hermione gasped. 'Harry!' She ran to retrieve it.

The Boy Who Lived stormed into the tent. He so wanted to throw things and act like a child. He didn't though; he had more control than that. Harry looked over at Ron, who was snoring loudly with half of his body off the mattress. Not a care in the world while Harry had every. Clenching his fists, he breathed out heavily, and walked across the tent to his own bunk. He wanted so badly to tell them both to go home. Maybe one day he could go home as well and have his own batch of ginger children with Ginny.

_Odds are Dean Thomas is keeping her safe while I'm not around. _He though bitterly. He knew that had ended a while back, but the thoughts didn't stop themselves from creeping into his mind. All the jealous thoughts seemed to creep up on him lately. He was always so bitter, and he hated it. He hated that almost every thought was negative. Everyone else had hope in him, and he did not. He was a seventeen year old child-star, and that was the only reason people trusted him.

_''an that's why yer famous…no one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you.' _Harry was reminded once more of Hagrid. He missed the Hogwarts groundskeeper, his small hut on the edge of the forest. He missed discovering what new creatures Hagrid was keeping for his class, and he missed his horrible grammar. He missed everything about Hogwarts, about his regular life.

Harry Potter just wanted to be a regular kid. He wanted to sit around the table at the Burrow with all the Weasleys, Hermione, Lupin and Tonks, with his extended family. He wanted comfort. Harry wanted so many things.

_Want, want, want. _

Harry wondered why he wanted so many things while when he was an eleven year old boy, people would kneel at his feet, wanting an autograph. _Anything for Mr. Potter._ He remembered Rita Skeeter and her horrible articles about him in the _Prophet. _She was most likely writing for Voldemort now, probably didn't want her blonde curls to be singed by the killing curse. Next time he saw that witch he'd probably flip her one.

Harry wrapped his sweater tighter around him. It was one that Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him on one Christmas, which one he couldn't recall. He always loved the thought that went into it, but he so badly just wanted to sit around doing nothing all day, wearing a baggy hoodie, dark jeans, and his favourite pair of worn out sneakers, provided by the Dursleys. He wanted there to be soft music in the background so that he could be laid back for once. Have Ron and Hermione sitting with him, them chatting about what they did during the summer, or how they were so excited to board the Hogwarts Express.

He yearned for comfort, for something simple.

He would never have that, though, and he knew it. Even after all the fighting was over, his face would still be featured on the _Prophet's_ front page for years. Maybe forever. No one would every forget Harry Potter. He wished they would. He almost smiled at the memory of Colin Creevey and his old fashioned (in the Muggle world at least) wizard camera, wanting his autograph, like so many others. Hadn't they learned by now that he just wanted to be left alone?

He wished he would have never existed. Without him, sure, Voldemort may have ruled the wizard world, so many more would have died; but he'd be at peace, because he wouldn't be alive. The Gryffindor inside him roared to life at the thought of everyone dying. Somehow peoples' deaths always connected back to him. It would always be his fault, in the end.

_'That's not true, Harry, and you know it.'_ Hermione's calm voice entered his mind. She tended to try and soothe him with sentences like that. Bless her heart, but they never did anything for him. Compared to Ron's brave demeanour: _'We'll get 'im, mate. We'll get that slimy bastard.' _Harry would nod, but never agree. He was in between. In between guilt and bravery. The former, he guessed, was what inspired the latter.

Ron grunted in his sleep, rolling his body back onto his bunk in what was a semi-normal sleeping position. He tended to sleep in the most complex body position he could muster. Since Harry didn't sleep much, he would lay on his back and put his arms at his side. Made him wake up very stiff, though. Outside the tent he heard Hermione sniffle and cough a few times.

_Shit, she's getting sick_.

Nope, definitely no sleep tonight.


End file.
